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Updated: September 21, 2025
Luis Gofredo was just as distrustful of them as they were of the Terrans; he kept the camp lighted, a strong guard on the alert, and the area of darkness beyond infra red lighted and covered by photoelectric sentries on the ground and snoopers in the air. Like Paul Meillard, Luis Gofredo was a worrier and a pessimist.
The "grouch" has no place on a camping-trip, and one who is a "grouch," a "sissy," a "faultfinder," a "worrier," a "quitter," or who cannot or will not enter fully into the spirit of the thing had better stay at home. A poor trunk, to a constant traveler, is a perpetual nuisance and worry. My trunks always gave me trouble until I got an Indestructo.
The sun, moon, stars, and comets? The trees? The flowers? The rain-drops? How Bryant rebukes the worrier in his wonderful poem "To a Water Fowl," and Celia Thaxter in her "Sandpiper." The former sings of the fowl winging its solitary way where "rocking billows rise and sink on the chafed ocean-side," yet though "lone wandering" it is not lost.
To call them imaginary is like telling one who inspects an insect through a microscope that the claws do not look enormous; they do look enormous through the microscope but this does not make them so. The worrier must learn to realize that he is looking at his sensations, as he does everything else, through a microscope.
If our fads, now and then, make us do something that gives us a little trouble, so much the better, if it is only to go to the library for a book, the worrier whose idea of rest and recuperation is to remain forever glued to an easy-chair is indeed to be pitied. Collecting old prints, stamps, and coins, is by no means a waste of time.
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